Ducking down the hall, I stop in her doorway to see Henrik already in her room. He’s crouching down beside her bed. They talk softly in Swedish. He pets her messy blonde hair as he helps her sit up. “Hey,” I say, stepping into the room. “Need any help?” “I think we’re fine.” Henrik shifts her to the side of the bed. He uses the technique I taught him in Sweden to keep her ribs from twisting. Then he’s helping her shimmy up her nightdress and positioning the bed pan for her. “I can help you get her to the bathroom,” I offer. “Less chance of a mess.” “I have this,” he replies. “Thank you,
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